Page 58 of When Lemons Give You Life

“Sorry, seems a bit rough, that’s all,” Tiff mumbles.

“You want rough? Try balancing staff rosters, accreditation documentation and residents’ families all while head office expects a fifteen percent margin. If this place turns a profit, I get to open two more. If it doesn’t, I’m out of a job. Growth takes strategy, not sympathy.” She softens a touch, switching gears. “And don’t forget to order the good Italian lunches for the tour next Thursday.”

Tiff blinks. “For all the residents?”

“No, just the east wing. That’s the only area I’ll be showing.”

I try to hold in a sneeze but fail.

Allison turns and looks me directly in the eyes, her stare paralyzing me.

“This is Martin,” Tiff says. “The new weekend chef.”

Allison squints. “Oh right . . . from New Zealand? I interviewed you on the phone. I’ve been meaning to check in.”

I nod, desperately trying to recall what Martin’s voice sounded like from the voicemail. “Yes, from Auckland, Martin McDonald, Martin Lesley McDonald,” I blurt out in my best Kiwi accent, instantly regretting saying his middle name like I was on some identity verification call with the bank.

She casts her eyes over my face like she’s reading my palm. “You look very familiar. Where have I seen you before?”

“We must have passed in the hall once or twice,” I murmur. I don’t add, And you’ve seen me stark naked on more than one occasion when you came into my room without knocking. I hold her gaze, my heart roaring in my ears.

“Nope. I know what it is! Has anyone ever told you that you look like Tom Hanks?”

I exhale and nod, recalling the movie fancy-dress party Beau dragged me to at the school. I went as Tom Hanks from Cast Away, and Beau was Wilson the volleyball. If I try hard enough, I can still hear our fits of laughter as I tried to make a red handprint on his painted-white face. Only the middle finger took.

“I’ve had fewer complaints about the weekend food, so it must be okay,” Allison says, walking away as her office phone rings.

Okay? Try bloody fantastic. Some people will never give a compliment.

My tummy knots as I recall telling four-year-old Lisa that her incredible drawing of me was just “okay” the evening after Brent had knocked the kindness out of me.

“Um. Yep, good. Anyway, I’d better be off. Here you go.” I hand Tiff the paper, both relieved and incensed that I wasn’t recognised. Yes, I’ve got a face mask on, and I know as a dementia resident I am invisible. But am I that bloody invisible?

Tiff, I understand—she’s fairly new and hasn’t seen me up close. But Allison has known me a long time, not that she ever bothered to learn my name. The anger soon shifts into guilt. How many people did I overlook in my day? As a chef? As a brother?

As I head out the front entrance, I pass Allison’s office. The door’s half-open, a video murmuring inside. I venture a look.

She’s slouched at her desk, gum popping between her teeth as she scrolls. A TikTok voice pipes up, bright and saccharine: “Contouring for over-forties! Lift your cheekbones and take years off your face!” She tilts her head. Drags two fingers along her cheek, copying the motion of the woman on the screen. She hits pause, checking her reflection in a small mirror. “Christ, another bloody wrinkle,” she mutters.

Out comes a jade roller from the drawer. She presses it under each eye as if smoothing herself back to twenty-nine.

Her phone lights up and she answers with a sigh. “Hey, sis.” Her voice is different now, low and worn out. “Yeah, Darren ended it. Said I’d changed. That I don’t ‘glow’ anymore.” A hollow laugh. “Glow. Like I’m a bloody lava lamp.”

She pauses, kicks off a heel.

“I know. You were right, he won’t date anyone who looks a day over forty. He’s seeing someone else now. Twenty-six. Still gets ID’d at Dan Murphy’s.”

She stretches back in her chair.

“Nah, he didn’t cheat like Luke. Just wanted something ‘fresh.’ I told him to go to a bloody salad bar.” Her tone hardens. “Mum warned us, didn’t she? Said once the lines come in, they look right through you.”

Silence.

She picks at her teeth with a long fake nail. “Yeah, well. At least you’re in retail. I’m stuck here, surrounded by sagging necks. It’s like living in a mirror of what’s coming. Promise me I’ll never end up like them.”

She slides the jade roller back into the drawer.

“So how’s the new assistant working out?” She snorts. “You’re being too nice. Nice doesn’t earn respect. Never underestimate the power of fear to keep them under your thumb.”